Crimson Waves
by StarlightWeavers
Summary: After Yumiko died a tribute in the Hunger Games, Fuji swears to have nothing to do with it anymore. But when Yuuta announces that he will become this year's tribute, Fuji knew that nothing can stop him from protecting his brother. Not the Capitol, not the twenty-three other tributes, and not even his love for his District's mentor.
1. Wave 1

Clary: A little background of this story: I did not write this alone~ Weee~ Actually, me and Lia have roomie neighbors who are The. Biggest. Hunger Games. Fans. Ever. They could tell you just how many people there are in District 13 and they'd probably be right, too! They got me to reading the series AND DARN IT, IT IS AWESOME! I stayed up ALL WEEKEND reading EVERYTHING! So~ We decided we'd write this because combining two awesome things make them SUPER-SUPER AWESOME. Yes.

Oh~ And introductions~ This is Alex and I think she is the cutest thing since Barbie dolls:

Alex: Hi! :)

And this is Kat who is just as badass as Katniss is and I personally think she should legally change her name so she would REALLY be Katniss (and she agrees with me, too!):

Kat: ...Sup.

So~ We don't own Hunger Games (BUT IT IS AWESOME!) and we hope you enjoy~

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**Crimson Waves**

**01**

* * *

I awake to the loud boom of music blasting from the old, groaning speakers. I recognize it right away because the tune is as familiar to me - and to anyone living in this sad country - as daylight. I cringe at the sound, more for the ominous reminder it gives than for the horrible mix of the anthem and the groaning speakers.

It is Hunger Games season once again. My heart contracts in my chest and I curl around myself and try to think of how I would be able to survive this season _this_ time.

Many years ago, my sister Yumiko joined the Games, became the crowd favorite, and died. I remember watching her Games in my mother's lap, too small to be able fit anywhere else, and I remember how she had been so beautiful, how she played up the crowds, how everybody in the Capitol talked about her as if she was already victor.

I remember not having a ghost of a doubt that my sister would come back.

And I remember my mother's loud cry of anguish when the tribute from District Two's axe swung a silent elegy that ended as it passed through Yumiko's head. I remember because I stayed up all night watching reruns of that particular scene until the memory of the echo of Yumiko's last laugh was forever engraved in my mind. The feed was horrible, the entire event painful, but I continued to watch until I could have no longer heard my mother's wails.

The next morning, they replayed various scenes of Yumiko's best times in the Games, and Inoue-san gave a entire speech about how they were so sad to have lost her. And I had thought, young as I was, that maybe there was good in the world, after all.

But then everything moved on, because it had to, and the people of the Capitol carried on to favor another, still-living tribute.

And Yumiko was forever forgotten.

It has been painful ever since.

Perhaps it is even more painful that my district treats this season as more of a celebration, or a party than anything else. I watch them string up the celebratory flaglets in the celebratory nets in bright, celebratory colors and I wonder why they are so happy about having to send their children out to slaughter.

I know the answer, because it is an answer that has been drilled into our heads for years.

We are one of the lucky ones. District Four is a rich district, and we didn't have any of the starving or the stealing or the poverty or other some such horror stories about the other outer districts. We have a great stock of everything, an entire pool of victors who are just as effective mentors, and strong healthy children who receive training and instruction on how to survive an arena full of scared, but ready-to-kill tributes.

Rather, the children deserving the training did.

I remember my own initiation test a few years back. I was ten, small for my age, but seething with a passion as I fell in line and thought about how my sister went through this as well. I flew through the obstacle course like a furious shark, tore away all the dummies in a show of impossible strength because I was seeing that tribute - _victor_ - from District Two's face chopping down my sister's smile and all I think is _how dare he_ and how much I want to kill him.

And I remember refusing their offer of training, with something akin to shocking satisfaction settling at the pit of my stomach as I watch their shocked, bewildered faces. I remember Ryuzaki-san's face most of all, because later, she approached me, patted my shoulder and told me, "I am sorry."

It was the first time anyone had ever acknowledged our grief.

I looked at her in the eyes, and saw the weariness she hides from the people of the Capitol. I had thought that perhaps those little wrinkles forming in her face were the sign of her grief at having to send kid after kid after kid to die for a group of people's sick entertainment. At having to pretend that she likes it. I know it was not what she had signed up for when she had been Reaped, but it is what she got, and what she is living with. I had briefly contemplated feeling sorry for her, before I remembered that she had been my sister's mentor.

So I squared my shoulders and drew myself into my full height. I am small, and straightening myself to my tiptoes does not help me reach even her waist. And I told her, "Don't be," because I knew nothing that would hurt her more.

I try to block out the anthem as I go through the motions of my everyday life. It is better when I am finally out in the sea. It is farther away that the sound of the anthem is diluted, and I could pretend that the people I have to live with do not enjoy the killing just as much as those people from the Capitol do. Sometimes, I sing the lullabies that Yumiko used to sing to me when she was alive, and I feel as if it is only me, the answering call of the sea, and Yumiko.

Always, in my fantasies, she is alive. Sometimes she talks to me, sometimes she does not, but all of the time she is there, all of her blue eyes and contagious laugh that sounds nothing like the way it did on television, when she was pretending for the Capitol because it is what their people want.

Perhaps I am mad. Sometimes, I wish I am.

My mother smiles at me as I go and help her prepare breakfast. Her smile is wan, but she is better now that the years have dulled the pain of Yumiko's death. She throws herself at the jewelry she (Yumiko used to) makes out of shells until she is nothing but tired every night, but she is better. Sometimes, I take to her some of the more colorful fishes I catch, and she would smile the way she used to when my sister was still alive. But the smile would be short-lived and I would go out again the next day, find her another glittery fish, feel some of the void fill up at her smile only to feel it chipping away once again when the smile disappears.

It is a vicious cycle, but it is my life.

We are both silent as the anthem still plays in the background until the sound of our door opening pulls me away from my task, and I frown.

He is there once again, twirling a strand of his hair, arrogantly stalking into our house as if he owned it. He does not, but he pretends anyway, and a part of me hates him for that.

He heads directly to where Yuuta was sprawled across the couch, where my little brother had collapsed into last night, the smirk obvious in his awful face. His hands come down in an arc stopping short of Yuuta's neck.

"Boom!" he says. His imitation of the cannon leaves much to be desired, but I turn my head away just the same. My brother wakes up with a huge thump, and I imagine that he has fallen to the floor, a tangle of fourteen-year-old limbs and blankets.

Mituli, or whatever it was his name was, laughs as Yuuta starts to grumble. "And then, Yuuta, you are dead," he narrates, and I resolve to myself to hate him even more.

I glance at my mother, but her face has become her trademark smooth, cheerful mask. "Would you like to stay for breakfast, Mizuki-kun?"

My brow twitches. No, Mother, he should not stay for breakfast, not unless you want blood, and his vile corpse littering your immaculate kitchen. I am feeling murderous enough right now that my grip on myself, and the knife, might stray. He should not stay for breakfast, if he knew what was good for him. But then again, his intelligence level had been sufficiently proven when he became Yuuta's number one trainer for the Games.

I've made it clear more than enough times, and I'll make it clear again. Misubi, I do not appreciate you primping my brother up for his death.

"Oh, no thank you, Fuji-san," he replies. "Yuuta and I have to head on out to practice bright and early." There is a pause, one which I use to wonder whether or not Yuuta had informed me about this shift in his training schedule last night. I decide that he has not told me. He only stayed up long enough to stumble to the couch. "Have to be buff and polished for the Games, after all."

"Oh, yes," my mother murmurs, though I knew she felt nothing even close to it. She didn't like them buffed, nor did she like them polished. She wanted Yuuta to not disappear into the training building every morning, and come home with a bounce on his step because he has just learned another surefire way to become a murderer. She wanted Yuuta to go to the beach and pretend to be happy with just fishing, like me, and spend the rest of his life alive and well and alive, because he does not have to 'honor' himself and volunteer for the Games so he could get himself killed.

It is a very simple desire, but it is one that Yuuta does not give in to. My mother would usually turn to me angrily in these arguments, but I am on neutral territory and I merely smile and tell her that Yuuta is old enough to make his own decisions, even though I believe none of the words that come out of my mouth. She does not ask me what I want, and I do not offer it because it is not what she wants to hear.

My wants, anyway, are fairly simple. I just do not want my little brother to die. That is all.

I do not want him with blood on his hands either, but I cannot have it both ways. He could be a cold-blooded murderer of twenty-three children and I will not care. No matter how changed he would be when he came back, at least, he still _lived_.

My mother sets two plates down in the table. She does not ask Yuuta to stay for breakfast anymore, because we both know what he would answer. I stare down at the food my mother has made. It is green, tinted with seaweed. My mother has been making bland food like this ever since Yuuta came home one morning and presented her with the list of foods he is and is not allowed to eat. The list still sits on the kitchen. It is longer now, and at least three pages long. There is another, newer sheet with it, containing a breakdown of what and how much Yuuta should be eating at what time on what day. The latter was given by Mirabi, and I briefly consider throwing this away just to spite him.

And then I feel his gaze directed to my back.

_Here we go again_, I think as I turn around to face them. Mikuri's gaze is assessing as always, with that same glint of impatient challenge in his eyes. It almost seems as if he is waiting for me to acknowledge him properly, but I could be wrong. At any rate, he should know by now that if he was going to stroll into our house 'killing' my brother, then he should not expect anything even close to acknowledgement from me if he doesn't want to incapacitate himself before his time in the Games.

Right now, a severed hand is probably all the acknowledgement I could give him that will cause the least damage.

"Perhaps," he begins, and I watch Yuuta's face slowly become sour. "Your Syusuke would like to join us?"

I do not give him the luxury of a proper answer. Instead, I stalk out of the house, and slam the door behind me. I am angry, I know, but it will not do to be angry in my house. The atmosphere is suffocating enough as it is.

My blood is still boiling as I stride towards town. Those out early raise their hands in half-waves I return with an easy smile. They smile easily back. I know it is strange to be angry and smiling, but I have cultivated this mask out of need. Much leeway was given to a grieving family of a fallen tribute, but the one thing they were not allowed to do, was inconvenience the Capitol.

The Capitol always came first.

Always.

And it only makes me feel even more awful that some of the eyes that were following me felt exactly as Mihiki's eyes did. Assessing and challenging. As if, any minute now, they expect me to stop pretending to be a normal District Four citizen and start being a Career Tribute. As if they think I do much more out alone in the ocean than catching pretty fishes and finding them pretty shells. Perhaps it will make them happy. Half of them seemed to believe that it will also make Yumiko happy, but when I watched her get pummeled down at her Games, despite her training, despite her sponsors, despite how many people believed she would win, I knew I would never want to become a pawn of the Capitol's, or anyone else's games.

I will not become a killer just so everyone could be happy.

I reach the shore just before I become desperate to get away from everybody's gaze. I stop just shy of the water's edge and stoop down, so I could watch the water hug the shore, pull back, and hug it again. The sound of the waves is familiar, more familiar than the Capitol's awful anthem would ever be, and it is a gentle, soothing sound that I love.

I stay for hours as I watch the sun slowly climb up to the sky, before my eyes, as they always inevitably do, drift to the cluster of immaculate houses on the right hand side of the shore.

Victor's Village.

More than half of the houses there are not occupied, but it does not mean that our pool of victors were any less than others. As with other rich districts, we have a wide variety of victors, many of which are still skilled, and smart enough to guide their tribute to at least survive the first few days of the Games.

And the most coveted mentor of them all, I know, was Tezuka.

Long ago, though it had not been very long, I had thought that I loved Tezuka. He had been well-principled and strong, his eyes filled with a passion that could have seared the soul of anyone looking. He had refused training with me, and together we had promised that we will never become tools or pawns or objects for people to oogle and bet at.

But that had been before he was reaped. At twelve, he had been the youngest tribute that District Four had sent in a long time. No one volunteered, because everyone had been afraid. It had been long since our district produced a victor, and the last few Games have been so bad, no tribute made it past the first few days of the Games. No one wanted to volunteer for a sure death sentence.

I remember rushing to the Justice Building after his parents had said their goodbyes, and pressing an enameled shell bracelet to his palm. It had been the last bracelet Yumiko had ever made, before she was made to volunteer in the Games, and it had been my most cherished possession. She had given it to me before she had been brought out the district forever, and I have not taken it off since. I told him to keep it, as a promise to me that he, unlike Yumiko, would come back. He promised that when he did, he would give it back to me.

But he never did. Things happened, and perhaps because he had become a much celebrated victor, the youngest in almost four decades of Games, he could no longer bear to dwell with ordinary mortals like me, but one day, he had approached me and told me we can no longer be friends.

I remember little else of what had happened after that.

Sometimes, especially on days like these, I hope he has kept Yumiko's bracelet. It is a strange thing to hope for, and it is powered by an even stranger desire, one that I cannot indulge in, so I convince myself that I want such a thing because I cannot bear it if my sister's last memento was thrown away by he who would have been my best friend.

And then suddenly, the sound of the sea is not soothing any longer.

I walk back to the house in a more sedate pace, because the worst of the anger has died out. I make it a point to pass by the back of the training building so I wouldn't have to suffer through anymore stares. The training building was huge, almost as large as the Justice Building. It is white, with a light covering of moss-like seaweed, like most of the buildings in our district. Our entire district almost seems as though it was built around this building, as if our entire lives revolved around the Games and training the children for the Games.

Technically, no one is supposed to train for it. But the Peacekeepers of the richer districts closer to the Capitol graciously look away and pretend to not be seeing anything, because tributes that were trained ahead made the Games so much more fun than having to watch scared little kids try to hack at each other. The Capitol wanted finesse, and an unseasoned murderer did not fit that description.

Yumiko had been the perfect example of a perfect tribute. The Capitol had loved her, worshipped the ground beneath her feet, and treated her as if she was their leader.

And then she had died.

I feel awful all over again.

I pause by the window just so I might be able watch Yuuta train. He would be easy to spot because he is the center of the world here. They may still be talking about the potential and the sure victor they have in his aniki, but Yuuta is present and I am not. Yuuta is fighting like fluid water, and is growing tougher and tougher every day, while no one knew if I could even fight when all I do is bring them pretty fishes and shells every other day. Yuuta, for the most part, hates me because I am his older brother. Perhaps if Yumiko had not died, and if I had been complacent, Yuuta would have been much happier.

Maybe then, he wouldn't be a Career.

...He is not here.

My brows scrunch up as I note my brother's absence. Where else could he be, but here? This has been his life and all he has lived for ever since he turned ten and worthy enough. My eyes scan the entire brightly-lit room, but there is nothing to see. The usual mentors are not even there. The sour taste returns to my mouth and then I am running.

In my mind, I play out just how long it had been since Mikuri started 'killing' Yuuta, imitating the cannons, talking about 'primping up' for the Reaping. I play out just how many nights Yuuta comes home exhausted, and does not have the energy to even get to his room. My heart is pounding in my chest, and all I think is _please, no_.

When I get back to the house, my mother is wailing once again. She is clutching Yuuta's shirt like a lifeline, her face completely buried in his rough tunic. Miguri is there, leaning against the wall, with a practiced air of long suffering.

So is Yamato.

Even from behind his glasses, his eyes are sharp as he takes me in. He is smiling, but it is not a comforting smile. It might not even be a smile, just a slight twitch of lips to acknowledge my presence. Under his gaze, I am ten and defiant once again, on the day I refuse to be a Career, on the day he claps me in the back and congratulates me for having the courage no one else in this damned country had.

My gaze meets Yuuta's, but he is not the younger brother I know. His eyes are steel, every bit as cold and as hard as the unfeeling metal, and I wonder exactly when I have lost him.

He opens his mouth, but I know what he was going to say before he even says it. Many years from now, if I am still alive, perhaps I will look back, and think that everything in my life has been building up to this one moment.

And I would think, _it starts with this_.

"I have been chosen," he says, his entire mien full of pride. "I will represent our district in this year's Games."

* * *

Clary: ACTUALLY. We don't know whether or not we should continue this. This was written on the top of our heads, on a random desire that we want to write fiction~ This could be a pretty open-ended oneshot or we could continue, but that is seriously up to you guys~ YOU GUYS DECIDE, KAY?

ALSO. The next chappie of TMOTH is actually finished, but every time I look at it, I feel so unsatisfied, and just CAN'T post it. I am hoping that one more week can give me the inspiration and magically make it sound nicer. I hope. Lia is not around coz she is busy, but she edited this for us and she says hi~ :)

SO. Review please? It's really SUPER EASY to review now, coz the review thing is at the same page~ We'd like to know what you guys think~~


	2. Wave 2

**MUCH LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES TO:**

Ariana Dream: Yey for firsties~ So~ We're continuing and we hope you enjoy~~

fujiyuki: Actually, we meant for it to be an open-ended oneshot~ But since you guys want us to continue, we'll do our bestest!

:)

Clary: WE DIDN'T THINK ANYONE WOULD READ THIS, SO WE ARE HAPPY~~~~~~~~~~~~ Actually, after we posted, we checked the site and found like about a handful of other Hunger Games AU and we were like, SO WE'RE NOT THE FIRST. Haha~

Anyway~ Since you guys wanna read, we are continuing the premise~

THERE ARE STUFF YOU GUYS HAVE TO KNOW BEFOREHAND, THOUGH. Number one is that I am a Perfect Pair girl. Like I can't stand not having them in ANY story, therefore, since this isn't a oneshot anymore, expect TEFU ROMANCE (notice the change in genre?). If you guys can't stand that, I'm sorry but I really cannot help it.

Number two is that Lia, my editor, is mad at me. Like super furious. You see, we have this agreement where I won't post any other story before I finish my current story so every story gets attention AND gets finished and yet, I posted this anyway. She only agreed to the posting of CW because she thought (and so did we) that it was only gonna be a oneshot. SO. Yeah.

Number three is that I'm juggling the two fics with uni. And so are Alex and Kat. And we, including Lia, are all taking honors majors. So, we can't update as often as we would like, but we'll try our best :) We're updating early now coz it's the weekend ;)

All the serious stuff aside, ENJOY~~~~~~

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**Crimsom Waves**

**02**

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When you are Reaped, one of two things could happen to you. It is either you die, or you become a victor. You cannot come out of the arena without being one or the other. Once, a very long time ago, when the Games had first started, a tribute had been brought out of the arena after he faked his death. He was found out easily, and returned to the arena, where he was tied up at the Cornucopia and made a feast. The victor of that year was said to have had a heavenly time torturing him to death.

The Capitol had been creating technology to monitor vital signs ever since.

Yumiko died, Yuuta wanted to become a victor. I do not know whether it makes me a bad person that I think that they both will have achieved exactly the opposite of what they wanted. I only know that I have already lost a part of my family to the Games, all of my friends, and now I am about to lose everything.

Perhaps I am being swallowed by a deep, dark, dank hole, and I watch, motionless as Yuuta's own lips shape to utter his death sentence. The back of my mind is blank, but for pictures of Yumiko and the axe slicing across her head. It plays over and over until Yumiko's blood has dyed my vision red.

I look at Yuuta's expectant face. His chin is jutted out defiantly, his eyes daring me to contradict and say no. For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to take in how small he really was. He was getting bigger, and he is already bigger than me, but he would be nothing compared to the monsters of One and Two. I know he would join their pack, but when they decide to turn on him, he would not be able to help it, because he is so small, and so painfully young.

I know suddenly, doubtless, as I had been with Yumiko, that he would die.

Why is he the tribute? He still had four years before he became ineligible. Why now, when he was still so small, and so young and he still had so much ahead of him? He isn't even at the peak of his development yet, and now he never would get the chance to, before he completely disappears. I try to think of anything that could stop him, or change his mind, but I fall short.

There is not anything I could offer my dying baby brother.

My head is hurting in its attempt to wrap itself around this truth. Yuuta is dying.

I try to recall everything about him, and press it all up to the front of my mind, so I know I have not forgotten anything. He is fourteen this year, because he is only a couple of months younger than me. He hates the greenish tint of the bread, and when we were younger, he used to close his eyes all the time as he ate it, so he could pretend it is what color suited his fancy. He likes milkfish the best, and oysters the least, and when he was five, he decided he could carry the trident only to land himself facefirst into the tangled weave of nets. He is tall for his age, and has been building up on muscle, but there is still some baby fat that constantly frustrates him because it refuses to go away.

He is my brother.

And I do not want him to die.

I do not know what to do, but somehow, I manage to school my face into my usual mask and tell him that I am happy for him, even though I am not.

Mikari starts yapping about how we should 'primp up' for the celebratory feast complete with milkfish and scallops and all the stuff Yuuta had long since been forbidden from eating. I know it is customary, and I try to say something only to have the words die out before they make it to my mouth. I do not have the energy to tell him, or anyone else, that one does not make a celebratory feast during a funeral march.

The sunlight glints off Yamato's glasses, and I remember when I have watched his Games. He was not the strongest, or the most popular, but he had won, because he had a quick, wily, deceitful mind. He might be a good mentor, but I am not sure if he would be a good mentor for Yuuta. No one would be a good enough mentor for Yuuta because to them, Yuuta is just another tribute they have to see through to the Games.

And Yuuta can never be important enough.

I needed someone who would make sure to see Yuuta through the Games and beyond that. I needed someone who would make sure Yuuta would win. I needed for Yuuta to not die.

I whirl around, turning away from Yamato's almost-knowing smile and head towards the side of the house where the tools for fishing were kept. My tridents are lined up there, gleaming and comforting, and I select the heaviest and the brightest and I cradle it against my chest. It is another thing of Yumiko's, this trident, the first weapon she has learned how to use, and her most favorite. She had brought it to the house to train the day before the Reaping, but was not able to return it anymore and the training center had not asked for it back. I did not do anything to remind them of it. They had taken my sister away, the least they could do is leave me with this.

It is a good trident, fit for killing, and for fishing, and it gleams like polished gold. The tips are sharp, I know, because I spend long hours every afternoon making sure they stay that way. I do not touch this trident for any other purpose, but today, I will make an exception.

I head towards the village with the trident in hand, and when I feel as if I could no longer walk, I would squeeze and and tell myself that it is for my younger brother. The villagers' eyes follow me and the obviously meant-to-be-a-weapon trident in my hand but I do not pay them any heed. I had one purpose and one purpose only. The people who cannot help me achieve such purpose were, as of the moment, unimportant.

The training building is deserted, but I only give it half a glance before I am walking again.

The trudge to the Victor's Village is foreign. I have not walked in such soil before, nor have I seen more luxurious surroundings. I take it in, though I have not missed a step, before I stop in front of a door in the house marked to be Tezuka's. I gather myself before I knock. I do not know what I am going to say, but I do not care. I squeeze the trident again and tell myself that my little brother will not become like Yumiko.

He will not.

And then, the door is opening, and for the first time in three years, I once again meet Tezuka's eyes.

For a moment, I forget everything. There is only the surprise in Tezuka's eyes, that were a thousand different shades of hazel rolled into one. He looks at me like he had before when we were just Tezuka and Fuji, and there was no Sixty-Seventh, or Seventieth, Hunger Games, or victors or the Capitol to get in between us. His gaze takes my breath away, and I find myself leaning towards him, just as he is leaning towards me. We are leaning, forwards and forwards, and I do not know why, but nothing feels as exhilirating as getting closer. And then Yumiko's trident bumbs into his wall and I jump at the sound and fall back down to earth once again.

Tezuka clears his throat. "Is there something I can do for you, Fuji?"

He does not look at me when he says this. He looks at the air above my head. He is taller than me now, so it is easy for him to do. For a moment, I wish I am taller, so I could meet his eyes and we could be Tezuka and Fuji once again.

I weigh the trident in my hand again, before I shove it aggresively towards his own. He does nothing to take it and continues to stare at the air above my head. I do not look at him as I say it, but I am able to barely choke out, "Yuuta will be this year's tribute," before my throat is closing in on itself and I suddenly feel as if I want to cry. In my head, it is Yumiko again, lying in a pool of blood that is half her own and half someone else's. The picture is so

real I could taste the metallic tang of blood in the air, and everything is so red and so bloody, I feel as if I am suffocating with the taste of blood thick in my tongue.

"Syusuke..." Tezuka whispers, so softly I can barely hear it. I think that maybe it is my imagination, I have only ever been Fuji to Tezuka. He had never called me by anything else, before he stopped calling me altogether. The sound of my name is different in his mouth, and I wish we were still friends, so I could ask him to not stop calling me anything but Syusuke.

There are a lot of things I wish for, none of them ever do really come true.

But not Yuuta. I do not care if it is the last thing I will ever have done, I will not allow the Games to swallow my younger brother as well. Losing Yumiko had been enough. Losing Yumiko had been more than enough. I do not think I could bear it if Yuuta completely disappeared as well. I do not care that he hates me, I will do anything.

Anything at all.

"Take it," I say, shoving the trident towards him again. "It's all I have that could be of any value to you." I would have given him anything, but like Yuuta, I had nothing to give to Tezuka. I suddenly feel so small, and so little, and I wish I was of more worth so I could offer more, be more for the people that I love. I choke back the tears and push the trident forwards once again.

I do not attempt to meet Tezuka's eyes.

"I don't-" Tezuka starts to say, and he could have meant anything, but my head immediately fills in on the rest of his sentence, and I am hyperventilating.

_I don't need it._

"Anything you want!" I cry out, my voice cracking, cutting off the painful part of the rest of his sentence. "Anything you want that I can give, I'll give you! Just please..." Yumiko's trident clatters to the floor, but I barely notice, because not a second later, I am following it down to the ground. My entire body shakes. "Please, please, _please, please, please_ don't let Yuuta die."

I am sobbing. It is not even the controlled, dignified kind that Tezuka would have respected. It is the awful kind, the kind that I cannot control, the kind that has me shuddering and gasping for breath because the crying takes away the energy for anything else. I do not know what I am sobbing for, Yumiko, perhaps, or Yuuta or my mother, or my own sorry pathetic self.

I feel very cold.

And then, warm, strong hands wrapped around me, and drew me in towards a tight embrace. Tezuka's body is familiar, and the steady beat of his heart is comforting. In this warm cuddle, I think that maybe it could be possible. Maybe Yuuta could be saved, and someday, I, or anyone else, would not have to live with the fear of losing everything to the wretched reminder of a past rebellion that had not even been our fault. I press closer towards Tezuka, and wait for the crying fit to pass. His arms are gentle as they glide across my back, soothing me further, caring for me like he had before he had been Reaped and become too good for anyone else.

When I finally stop shuddering, he pulls me back so he could meet my eyes. Up close, he looks as if he is very tired. His eyes are exactly like Ryuzaki-san's eyes, and maybe all victors look like that. I do not know. I know no victors enough to be sure. There was one time when I had thought I knew Tezuka, but three years have passed, and I feel as if I cannot understand him at all anymore.

"I will mentor Yuuta," he says, softly, firmly. "And he will become the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games."

It is strange, but at this declaration, I feel a heady surge of reassurance thrum in my veins. It is a warm feeling, but I know how deceptive it really is.

Once, I had felt the same thing with Yumiko. Once, I had been wrong.

I do not wish to be wrong again.

"Are you certain?" I ask, needing him to be sure, needing someone else to believe with me, so the situation would become less impossible than it did now. "Do you promise?"

At that, Tezuka nods his head sharply. The flare in his eyes that had once been so characteristic of him is back, and he is completely serious when he says, "Yes."

But there is something else in his eyes, as well, a trace of humor that had once been there when we used to meet each other at the pier and he had taught me how to fish. It feels as if the three years had suddenly been blown away and we are at the pier and he is giving me pretty shells to take home once again.

I shift as I smile, and when I do, I feel uneven contours digging into my arm. My gaze drifts down automatically, and my eyes widen at what I see.

It is Yumiko's bracelet, snug against his left wrist, looking exactly like the way it had when I had first worn it. I do not know what to feel as I look at it, but there is something that builds up at the pit of my stomach, and at the part of my chest where my heart is supposed to be, at the knowledge that Tezuka has not thrown it away.

(_Tezuka has not forgotten me_.)

I look up at him, to see that he has followed my gaze. We look up at eactly the same time, and our eyes meet once again. I feel myself smiling, for real for the first time in a long time, and my face feels foreign, but so very good.

Tezuka's eyes are gentle, too, but they are back to being tired and sad. He squeezes my hands tightly, once, twice, and then a third time. He takes Yumiko's trident, and presses it back to my palm, and he helps me stand up, being so very careful, I feel that feeling in my stomach that I do not recognize once again.

And then he takes his hands away, and the feeling disappears before I could begin to comprehend it.

"Go," he tells me. He does not meet my eyes again, and he gives me a subtle push forwards. "_Go_."

His door closes before I could open my mouth to respond, and I stand there, grip the trident and stare at the polished wood for a very long time.

When I return home, it is quiet, and deserted. I do not worry, because I know exactly where my family is. It is customary for the Mayor to throw a feast for the volunteer tribute and his family the day before the Reaping. It is to thank them for their bravery, I am told, but the bitter side of me just thinks that the Mayor is happy because it is another year that he does not have to watch _his_ child be sent off to die.

I do not bother to go.

Instead, I trudge up to my room, slam the door close, and glare at the formal wear that is laid out at the side of my bed. It is neatly ironed and ready for wear. Everyone is expected to look pretty for the Reaping, but I think it does not matter, because I am not the one who will become tribute tomorrow.

It is white.

The true color for mourning is white.

It is only right. The trident escapes my hand and embeds itself onto the pillow beside the clothes. It stays up for one long moment, before it falls down slowly, rumpling the neat folds of the button-up shirt. The golden tips show at the other side of the pillow, and there are tears in the fabric of the mattress, and this time tomorrow, my mother would be too wracked up with grief and anxiety to care.

Yuuta would not even be around to see it.

I fall down at the foot of my bed and weep until there is nothing in me to cry out any longer.

When I wake up the next morning, I am gasping. The traces of my dream still linger in my mind, our district escort making it easier for everyone else, and just drawing Yuuta's name off of the bowl. Yuuta's answering eager grin is so wide, my heart tears in half.

My mother cooks the tastiest sort of meal I have ever seen in a long time, but I do not have the strength to even look at it. Yuuta wolfs down his breakfast, enthusiastically, and he pretends not to notice that Mother and I do not eat anything at all. He gets up hastly when he is done, and spends longer time than what is necessary cleaning himself up, and I go in after him mechanically, too numb to bother that the water is so cold, I am shivering as I walk back to my room.

Yuuta is rigid when I go out. He is wearing white, like me, and it is neatly pressed, because no trident fell down on it last night. He had bothered to comb his hair for the first time in years, and he looks crisp and clean, and I could see, somehow, what kind of man he will turn out to be if he survived.

He is so handsome, I want to cry all over again.

But I do not. I smile when we head out, I smile when we go through the preparations for the Reaping like we do every year, I smile when Yuuta wordlessly moves to join all the other fourteen-year-olds, and I even smile when Mituli lopes his disgusting arm around me and tells me how it is a happy day.

On stage, the victors are seated with the Mayor, and many of them are smiling, chatting amicably, because there are cameras, and people from the Capitol expect to see that their victors are just as giddy and expectant as they are. I locate Tezuka easily. He is sitting nearest the side of the stage, his usual place ever since he had been crowned victor, but he is not smiling. His gaze stares straight ahead, and I thank him silently for not bothering to lie.

Distric Four's escort is there now, too. She is young, but I can only guess that much about her. The fashions from the Capitol are gruesome and atrocious, and they only get worse every passing year. Shiba Saori is the prime example, because she is still so young, that she always, always cares that she is in fashion. This year, her hair is blood red, and so are her lips, and the back of her lids, and she is so pale and so white it cannot be natural. Her eyes are catlike and green, and the lashes extend a few inches too long off of her face. She is wearing clothing the size of dish rags, and it is a wonder how she manages to move around without having it fall off.

All I could think of is how she looks like Death.

I stare at the glass bowls on the stage. It would not matter how many names there were in that stupid bowl, because it is Yuuta who is going to go to the Capitol at the end of the day. I could volunteer with him, but I would easily be voted out. Yuuta was the district's choice, and I have taken myself out of the position to be chosen in the first place. I severely regret that now.

As the Mayor starts reading the stupid story of how this 'happy event' came to be, I search for Yuuta in the crowd and try not to cry when I don't see him at all. I look back on the stage just as he is saying Tezuka's name, at the end of the list of District Four victors. I try not to cry when I cannot meet Tezuka's eyes, either.

And then Shiba Saori in on the microphone, bright and cheerful, and as eager as the rest of her barbaric kinsmen are, and I understand nothing of what she is saying until she finishes her speech with the usual, accented, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

It is the beginning of the end.

The girl she Reaps does not receive any volunteers. I know her. She is two years older than me, but I know her. She swims naked in the beach every other day, and I hardly bat an eyelash, because everyone in District Four swims naked. The day Yuuta accepted the offer to be trained for the Games, she paddled towards me as I stared blankly at the beach and told me everything would be alright. She is a Career, as well, and she promised me she will do everything she can to watch out for my brother. Sometimes, I sit with her and pretend she is Yumiko. When I told her that, she laughed, kissed my cheek, and started calling me her little calfling.

Kisaragi Meiko and I have been friends ever since.

Now my brother would have to kill her to stay alive.

I try not to feel any worse than I already do.

And then Shiba is reaching out to the bowls with the boys' names on them and I am back to my dream, and Yuuta's name is pulled out, and it is worse, because I know that even if it isn't Yuuta's name, Yuuta would be the one leaving the District today anyway.

I try to think of Tezuka, and the absolute certainty in his eyes when he tells me that Yuuta will become this year's victor.

I watch the paper being pulled out of the bowl, and follow it as Shiba moves back to the podium to smooth it out. It is exactly like my dream, every single detail, and this will be the part that she perks up, and announces that she has picked Yuuta's name.

She perks up, exactly as she did in my dream, looking extremely pleased with herself as she beams at all of us, and starts to happily, almost dreamily, read out the name.

And it's not Yuuta.

It's Fuji Syusuke.

* * *

Clary: SO. HERE'S HOW IT'S GOING TO WORK. Lia is talking to me now only because Alex got us a compromise that will keep everyone pseudo-happy. Next week, I will be updating TmoTH, because I am still waiting for inspiration, haha (sheepish smile).

AND THEN, the next update will be for this story. It will be like I'm alternating updates, see? Everytime I update one story, I have to follow-through on an update on the other story, so I neglect nothing (except maybe my schoolwork)~

ISN'T ALEX AWESOME~~~~~~~~~~~~?

So, please do drop a review~ They make us happy and encourage us to write more! More reviews = faster updates, and maybe even higher grades for me~


	3. Wave 3

**MUCH LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES TO:**

Ariana Dream: Yes~ Meiko is the OC from DP~ We thought it would be fun to use a character pseudo-familiar to us~~ :) Look forward to the action, ne? :)))

fujiyuki: Thankies for the good luck~~ So, um, here's the next installment, and we'll have you see for yourself, kay? :))

Alatarielf: Aww, thanks so much~~~ We're glad we made you happy~~ :)) We're missing you, too, and uni's hell, but it's cool and awesome (ish :)) We were actually really scared about the first person narrative but we're ecstatic that you like it~~~ -hearts-

Lazy Gaga: We'll do our bestest!

Tennotsukai no Saiten: Aw, thank you! You don't know how happy (giddy, ecstatic, fly to the heavens with joy~) you made us~~ Um, okay, so actually, we still don't know whether or not we'll continue on up to the Mockingjay arc... That would also depend on what you guys think... But don't worry, we have plans for that in case we do! (Though we have to say, damn, you're good! :)) Can you guess who our 'Mags' is? :)

taraentula: Wow! Thanks so much! We'll do our best not to disappoint, but we promise we'll see this to the end, wherever that may be! :)

Guest (1): Well, here's more :))

xMythrilMist: Thankies for the luck, Lord knows we'll need it :))) And here, another update~ We hope it's a good enough time for you~

Guest (2): We're assuming you are neumegami because your album name says so :) Oh my goshhhh, your drawing is heaven sent! –Kya! Kya! Kya!- We can't stop looking at it! Seriously! We can't! It's that awesome! Thanks so much :) And.. um.. Would you mind very much if we share it with everybody? We'd like your permission first so :D

:)

Clary: Oh my gosh, thanks for all the wonderful, wonderful, super-encouraging feedback~~~~

Knowing what you all think inspires us so much that even though we are up to our necks in uni stuff, we found the time to be writing~ Yey~ We promise to do our bestest in every chapter~~~~!

And without much ado... Enjoy~

* * *

**Crimson Waves**

**03**

* * *

Three years ago, Shiba Saori dipped her hand into that bowl, and drew Tezuka's name. The revelation came like a strong kick straight to the stomach, and I stood there, my eyes wide, unbelieving and I could barely breathe because Tezuka was walking away and I felt as if he was walking off to some place I could not hope to ever reach. The dread that settled into my stomach was a horrible, sickening thing, I was dizzy with disbelief, my heart was pounding in my head, and I felt as if I was about to throw up even though I had eaten next to nothing that morning.

There had only been one slip amongst a thousand others with Tezuka's name, and I remember screaming inside my head, shouting _why, why, why_.

I do not feel anything like it at all now.

Instead, I am happy.

Shiba Saori is chirping to the microphone, crying out, "Come on out, Fuji Syusuke!" as if I am scared and about to hide or run away. I am not. In fact, I could barely restrain myself from running to the stage, grabbing the microphone, and telling everyone that yes, I am Fuji Syusuke, take me. Take me away from here, pull me away from all the home I have ever had, make entertainment out of me, and I would do it.

I would do everything, so long as my younger brother is safe.

I smile, so, so broadly it hurts my face. I want to kiss Shiba Saori, because I am so happy, so full of relief, so content and I did not care about anything else but my name on her lips, if only for the fact that the name is not Yuuta's.

The crowd of kids part as I make my way up the stage. I could feel their eyes, and the rest of the villagers' eyes watching my back. Challenging and assessing. Their gazes are saying that they knew it, after all, that I was secretly training, that I'd be their next black-sheep-victor, just like Tezuka had been. They are whispering lies behind my back, but I do not care. They could believe all that they want. Whatever it was they believed in, one truth remained the same.

Yuuta is not going to die. Not now. I have bought him at least one more year of training and safety, and I am depending on no one to keep him safe. No one, but myself. For the first time, just being me is enough to save those that I love, and I think that perhaps, I might be of some worth after all.

I am so happy.

I begin climbing up the stairs towards the stage. I am careful here, because the steps are slippery, caked with the familiar greenish tint of seaweed, just like the rest of this whole district. The smile is still on my face, but I stare at the steps for so long, and look at the patterns the slippery seaweed has formed against the dirty white background.

I do not know why. They are normal steps, a constant in District Four, and I should not at all be new to this fact. I see this everyday.

...Every

Day...

I shake out of my reverie because Shiba is singing my name out again, as if she can barely keep herself from saying it. She probably still remembers Fuji Yumiko, and she probably still remembers how popular Fuji Yumiko had made her. It did not matter that she died, Fuji Yumiko was her prized lamb. One of the very best, in fact, because this prized lamb had not waited to be chosen. Instead, it walked right into the feast and asked to be slaughtered.

I take a deep breath and look up, only to meet a distinctive set of hazel eyes. They are Tezuka's, because no one else in this district had eyes like his. They are as intense as they have been, when he had promised me my brother's life, but now they are terrified. His entire face spelled horror as he watched me climb the steps, and his posture is rigid against the chair. To everyone else, he would still have looked normal, but to me, they are hopelessly, unbearably terrified.

I do not think I have ever seen Tezuka terrified before. Not even when he had been Reaped. Then, his face had been set with defiant determination, coupled with a sort of resignation and the beginnings of the tiredness I now associate with the eyes of those who have been crowned victors in these Games.

I smile at him, reassuringly, and I try to show through that smile that I am happy. It does not help him, and his hands twitch as I pass. I do not know what he intended to do, but he did not do it, and I am far away from him now, and getting closer and closer to Shiba Saori's bouncing figure. I feel the pull of that missed action through, and it is strong, as strong as it probably would have been if Tezuka had truly done something.

Shiba grips my wrist, tightly, and steers me towards the center so I could face everybody. I do not realize that I had expected her hand to be cold until I am feeling surprised that she is, indeed, warm. She smells like nothing I have ever smelled, and it is so strong it blocks the smell of anything else as she throws her hands up and announces my name for the fifth time.

I see Yuuta now.

It is easy to spot him onstage because the other fourteen-year-olds are parting for him, too. He is cutting a furious path towards us, and his face is pinched and white, and maybe he is angry with me, or maybe he is terrified for some inexplicable reason, like Tezuka, and I know he will never live it down if I am this year's tribute and he is not.

It only makes me happier, because Yuuta being angry with me means that he is still alive to do it.

Shiba is less enthusiastic as she begins to face the crowd again. It is the time for her to ask for volunteers. She is unhappy because she is unwilling to let me go. Just my name will make her legend in the Capitol, though she did little more than draw it out of a bowl that was supposed to contain it in the first place, and I did little more than be born.

The people of the Capitol sicken me with their superficiality.

My gaze drifts back to Yuuta once again. He is almost hugging the stage now, and his eyes are so very eager, and so very impatient, and he is constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for Shiba to go ahead and ask already. I know he wants to volunteer so much, but there are protocols to be followed, and if there is something the Careers are forbidden to do, it is displease the people of the Capitol.

I fall out of the clouds enough to realize that this will ruin everything. I glance frantically at Shiba, and she is drawing breath at the same time Yuuta is opening his mouth, and I know that if the words leave Shiba, Yuuta will end up going anyway, and he can't, _he can't_, because I am on the eave of saving him and I will not stand here and let him die.

It won't be Yumiko all over again.

I am stepping forwards before I comprehend what I am doing.

"No!" My voice is clear and loud against the mutters of the crowd. I feel relieved, because it is not dry or weak like I would have imagined it to be. Shiba turns to me, her blood lips half-open in surprise, but her eyes sparkle with delight at the drama she is getting. I feel everyone's gaze on me, but it is Yuuta's and Tezuka's that I feel the most, because they are horrified and disbelieving and perhaps more than a little angry. I do not know which emotion belonged to whom. It could be one or another, or maybe a combination of both, but they weigh heavily on my back, two separate heavy burdens that I ignore, because this is something I have to do.

"No," I say again, stepping up beside Shiba. My hands are shaking at my sides, so I crumple them both until they are fists. From the stage, I could faintly hear the ocean's waves crashing into the shore, and Yumiko is singing at the back of my head. I smile when the song tells me to, and bring a hand up towards my chest. My heart pounds against it loudly, but I am glad that my shaking is not visible at all.

"No volunteers." I open my eyes, and I hope they are sparkling. They feel wet enough to me. There is no other reason why they should be wet. "I will represent District Four in this year's Games."

I look at Yuuta as I say this, and his eyes are so furious, they fill me with a sense of relief. His mouth is opening and closing, rather like a fish, and he is going from white to red. Perhaps later, it will become purple. It would have been the cutest thing ever.

I smile at him, like the brother he had never wanted, and wish he would never stop being angry with me.

If he stopped, that would probably mean he is dead.

Shiba is ecstatic. She crows to the microphone, puts her arm around me, and smothers me with her mystery scent. I try to pull away, but her grip is too tight. I do not know why I want to pull away in the first place. My eyes dart around, until I see a part of the sea that has been my home ever since I can remember. It is so far that I see very little, and my breath hitches in my throat because Shiba's perfume is drowning out its familiar salty tang.

I am so alarmed with this I hear nothing of the Treaty of Treason the Mayor is reading.

And then I am facing Meiko, and Shiba is asking us to shake hands, and everybody is clapping so loudly, my smile widens unbelievably.

...I am happy. That is why I'm smiling. But I do not understand why it is beginning to hurt. Happiness is not supposed to hurt, is it? I cannot comprehend why this happiness is coming out more as a sort of pain than anything else. My smile begins to slip.

It is Meiko's eyes that keep me steady. She gives me a reassuring, motherly smile, exactly like the one she gave me when she swore to look after Yuuta. She mouths, "Calfling," and I know that by this word, she is swearing to look after me, too. I wonder why. Only one person ever comes out of the arena alive.

_Only one person._

She does not let go of my hand as we are steered towards the Justice Building, the crowd's cheering still behind us. And it is only when she squeezes my hands tightly that I realize that I am smiling and crying. I did not realize that people are able to do both at the same time, but I touch my face and the tears are really there. They would be salty if I bothered to taste them, but I do not because they can never be as salty as the sea.

And I am already hurting enough.

She pats my hand as we are led to separate rooms, and I sit on the only stuffed seat that is there and stare at the wall. It is green, and it is painted to resemble the patterns the seaweed makes on all our houses, but it is too ordered to be anything at all but paint and fake patterns that do not even look pretty. The green is not even the right color. It is too bright, too happy, and it looks as if it is not a color that would be present in this district. The awful color makes me double over and suddenly I am gasping and shuddering against the seat, and I realize exactly why I stared so hard at the steps a while ago.

It was because it was the last time I would ever get to see anything like it at all.

I have been so happy that I am saving Yuuta I did not let myself realize that I have signed up for my death sentence. No matter how small Yuuta's odds are, mine are even smaller, slimmer, because I have never been trained, I am so small and so skinny, and I will never be like Yumiko had ever been. Once I leave, I am never coming back, and I could never see the seaweed patterns on the wall ever again, nor can I see the ocean, or my tridents, and it is the thought of Yumiko's trident still embedded on my pillow that has me curling around myself until I am small enough that I could have convinced myself that I am disappearing.

Only one person comes out of the arena alive. A long, long time ago, it wasn't Yumiko.

This year, it won't be me, either.

_Disappear, disappear, disappear._

I hear my mother before the door opens, and when she rushes in, she is not wailing, or crying, or anything at all. She gathers me into her arms wordlessly, and we stay that way for a long, long moment, before she rips herself away from me, and angrily wipes off my tears.

"Do not cry," she demands. Her words are harsh, but her voice is barely audible, and I know she is just as strangled as I am. "The people from the Capitol do not wish to see crybaby tributes."

I do not know why she cares at all, but I obediently wipe away the remaining tears she has missed.

"Yes, I know," I tell her, because she wants to hear me say it.

"Syusuke," she says, and she grips my shoulder and raises my face to meet her own. Her own eyes sparkle, too, with the tears she refuses to shed. They are red on the edges because she had cried herself to sleep last night. I know, because I was in the other room, crying along with her. "I will ask one last thing of you, and I need you to listen to me very carefully, and follow my instructions to the letter."

I do not know what I can give my mother. I am dead now, and what can the dead ever give? But I nod my head, because there is that wan smile that kills me every time and I think that I should at least let her be happy because I don't know what else to do.

I wonder how she will survive. Yuuta hates the ocean. Yuuta cannot bring her the fishes that would make her smile or the shells that she would use to make jewelry with. And neither can I. Not anymore because then, I'd be on the ground, right beside my sister.

What will make her happy?

"Syusuke, you will come out of the arena this year," she tells me, and her voice is hard. "You will be victor. You will win."

I smile, sadly, because my mother is cooking up an impossible illusion. I know and I know that she knows that I have no chance at all. All I have ever done all my life is fish. I doubt that swimming naked in the sea could help me kill anyone. Perhaps I can hope that they will be astounded for long enough that I can hurt them, but that is a stupid hope, and an even stupider scenario. But it makes her happy, or at least, it keeps her going, and I would do anything I can do now to make her happy.

I would probably get no other chance to do so ever again.

"Yes, Mother," I say, though it takes so much effort to say it. "I promise." I have never seriously lied to her before, and this first time scrapes out a large part of my heart until I feel strangely hollow and heavy at exactly the same time.

She smiles. It is not a believable smile, but I thank her for trying. "My baby," she says, smoothing my hair back. "I know you could do it."

This is probably the last conversation we will ever have. It hurts that it is the last and we squander it by lying to each other. I am lying to my mother, my mother is lying to herself, and we are both lying to the world. But it is probably better than her telling me she knows I will die. Lying to each other is infinitely better than that awful, ugly truth.

I decide that makes it okay.

My mother hugs me. She has not hugged me this way ever since she started mourning Yumiko's death, and I wonder if this kind of hug that Yumiko has also received from her, before Yumiko left and welcomed her death. I think I am comforted by the thought. Or perhaps, it only makes me feel worse. Right now, I do not have the strength to tell the difference.

"I love you."

She smells like the sea.

"I love you, too, Mom."

I press my face closer to the fabric of her blouse and breathe and breathe and breathe. I inhale huge lungfuls, because I do not want to forget. I do not want Shiba Saori's awful scent to mar this smell, and I do not want to not be able to remember anything at all about the family I left behind when I die. When I die, I will think of this, how my mother smelled like the sea, and how her hands are as soothing as the waves. They will be the same scent and fingers that will soothe Yuuta tonight, and all the other nights I am at the arena and he is not. And Yumiko's voice will be singing me a soft lullaby, and it will be exactly like I am just drifting off to sleep.

Even though in that time, I will never be able to wake up.

She pats my head one last time before she is gone. I do not have the heart to look at her hurting eyes. I stare at the door that closes behind her, and just stare because I do not have much more left in me to give.

The door opens to many other familiar faces that tell me that they are sure I would win. They had never talked to me about the Games, not directly, but now, they could not stop talking about how my win is assured, and I could not even talk because I am not sure at all. I try to think of any indication I have given them that I am 'just like my sister.' I think of none, so I think that maybe they are lying through their teeth as well. It makes them feel better so I let them, even though they, too, are just deluding themselves.

I am glad when the door closes for the last time. I do not recognize many of the people who have come, and I don't have the energy to name them all. People from the market, some of our neighbors, maybe even one or two people who had just happened to swim with me.

Yuuta does not come at all.

I should not have been expecting anything else in the first place. Yuuta hates me for taking his place. He will forever hate me for it, and that would be the only thing he would ever remember me for. He was not going to show up and wish me luck. He is probably wishing for my death.

I tell myself that I am alright with this.

It works, in a way. After all, it is just another lie in the mountain of lies that my life has become in the past few minutes.

When Shiba Saori all but pushes us onto the train that would lead us to the Capitol, I look back for one last time. It is the time the cameras take to get as much of what they could get from the tributes, but I do not look at them.

My mother is there, and it does not surprise me that she is. I cannot tell her goodbye enough, and she cannot tell me goodbye at all, so we do it by watching each other as I leave and set out for my death.

I think of the promise she has made me give, but I know in my heart, as she does in hers, that I will not come back.

Yuuta is there, too. He is scowling darkly, but he is holding our mother's hand, so tightly his knuckles, and hers, are white. He meets my eyes and his chin juts out defiantly once again. His mouth opens, and it is loud even amidst the noisy crowd.

"Bastard," he says, and though I cannot really hear his voice, I imagine it as it had been. It is a scratchy thing, just right on the edge of becoming deep, but not quite there yet. It is gruff, and it is angry, because Yuuta has only ever been angry at me.

It is the most beautiful sound in the world.

"You win!"

I do not know whether he means that I win and he is letting me off of being this year's tribute instead of him, or if he is telling me to win the Games. It is the first time he has ever acknowledged me in any way that is not hatred, or some form of it, and I want to cry because it is too late. I would have wanted to be closer, but I am going off to die, and all we would ever have are angry glares and nonsensical words that can mean anything at all because we do not know each other enough.

We would never have anything else.

It is too late to have anything else.

I give him my sweetest smile. It takes away the last of the heart that still remains in me, but I decide to nod and lie to my brother, too.

I am such an accomplished liar that he nods curtly back and holds my gaze in a way he has never had before. Perhaps, just perhaps, it is trust that fills his eyes. He has never trusted me with anything other than keeping him fed before, and it is sad that he decides to trust me about something I cannot give. I wish I could tell him I am sorry. I wish I could give him more than just this.

But I have given everything I have.

I am already empty.

And it is not enough.

Of course, I am not surprised by this. I am too little, that my everything is always not enough.

When the trains doors slam shut in my face, I do not move, or look away.

I barely notice the train's motions, but we are slowly, slowly moving away. I keep my eyes on the same level they had been when Yuuta's eyes were still there to see, and I keep on looking until it is not hard to pretend that the gray, metal doors were the exact same shade of Yuuta's eyes. Even then I continue to stare because I imagine that my mother and Yuuta are still looking at me, so even though they cannot see me, I have to look back.

I have to.

It is only when a hand falls into my shoulder that I look away, and I meet Tezuka's eyes. I want to ask him so badly if it gets better, but I am afraid to hear the answer because I know he will say no. Tezuka would never lie, and there would never be a more truthful answer.

"Yuuta, he..." Tezuka tells me, his voice scratchier than Yuuta's. "He attacked me once you disappeared inside the Justice Building."

My mouth opens in surprise. Tezuka is Yuuta's idol. Yuuta had only ever worshipped Tezuka, had only ever wanted Tezuka to replace me as his brother and I wonder if Yuuta thinks that it was Tezuka's fault that I am Reaped and he is not.

"He told me," Tezuka continued, the grip on my shoulder tightening painfully. I do not complain because no matter how much that hurt, my heart is hurting so much more. The physical pain distracts me from the throbbing of emptiness, but it fills up nothing, and pretty soon it would only be me and my hollow self once again. Perhaps this is the reason why I deserve to die. "He told me that he would hunt me down himself if you died."

My heart flies to my throat. Yuuta is yelling _"You win!"_ at the back of my head, over and over once again. I remember all those moments in my mother's lap, watching Yumiko in her Games, knowing one day she will come back, honored and worshipped, because she is the best victor the Capitol could ever hope to have. I remember the crushing disappointment, and deep, cutting pain when I realized she would not.

Yuuta had been too young to comprehend anything then.

He is not as young as he was now. He will be hurt when I die. And I will be the one hurting him. Just like I will be the one hurting my mother, just like I am the one making Tezuka so scared.

I hurt everyone.

All I wanted to do was save my brother. This is the only solution. My being tribute is the only solution. So why is it killing everyone I wanted to save?

My nails dig so deeply into my palms, I feel the slow trickle of blood in my fingers, but I say nothing because the words go away before I think of wanting to say them.

"I promised him I'd bring you back alive," he finishes. There is certainty in his voice, but his eyes are still terrified. I know because my eyes were terrified, too, and I can tell that he is lying as well. To me or to himself, I do not know, but he is lying, and today is a day full of lies.

So I laugh because it is all very ironic, and even though Tezuka does not laugh with me, he holds me the moment I collapse, when I cannot distinguish my laughter from my tears any longer. I look up at him again, and maybe his eyes are wet and sparkling as well. It may be just because of the glint of the light on his spectacles. It may not.

I do not know.

But right now, away from the cameras and the prying eyes of the people of the Capitol, we are just two people who are so terrified and scared we can barely breathe, and I think, at least, it is good that we are terrified together.

* * *

Preview Wave 4:

_"Do you trust me?"_

_"I'm going to kill all of you."_

_And then, there is the disaster of Seven._

_"Wasabi... It seemed like the sort of thing you would like."_

"_I'll see you win... If it's the last thing I do." _

* * *

Clary: Um. So not much happened in this chapter SO, we're giving you guys a sneak preview of the next one to make up for it (also, to give you guys something to look forward to)~~~

We'd decided to do this for every chapter from now on (we voted~ my team won, yey~) We hope you guys enjoyed the third installment, and the sneakies of the next one~

So, um... Please do drop by, and leave a review? We'd like to know what you guys think about everything (we're still, or I'M STILL, at least, fairly new to the first person POV thing so... :)) and we love hearing from you~ Who knows, we might even update fast because we're so inspired (yes, I know, I'm shameless)~ :DDDD


	4. Wave 4

**MUCH LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES TO:**

fujiyuki: Thanks so much! We are working very hard to get used to the first person POV :)) And Yuuta loves Syusuke –nod- :) Here's the next chappie :D

Alatarielf: Yey~~~ Thanks! We try our bestest! And writing's fun :)))

Tennotsukai no Saiten: Ooh~ Secret future happenings are secret ;) Though we will say that no, Ryuzaki (who, yes, is Mags, you genius :)) will be replacing secret-someone-else ;) On the Districts question, see for yourself, kay? :) And Shiba is happy that Fuji is chosen because Yumiko had been very very popular, and Fuji is Yumiko's brother so.. (we were trying to play on the superficiality of the Capitol :)) And by that phrase, we just meant that Yumiko volunteered as tribute. Thankies for the luck wishes, and we'll try our bestest!

taraentula: Awwee~~ We're touched –sob- We hope this chapter meets your expectations, too! :)

xMythrilMist: Ehehe... This... is kinda late isn't it... –sheepish smile- We're sorry...

neumegami: Your drawing's beautiful! It is so love, we love it so much so much :) You're too humble :) And we have a few of the other tributes here, so enjoy, ne? And the 'making up Fuji' part... well stay tuned to the next chappie for that ;)

:)

Clary: Okay, so I know the next update kinda sorta had to be MoTH, but that chapter's currently undergoing major and I mean MAJOR overhaul. My writing's been sucking exponentially the past few weeks, I suck now~~~ Boo :(((((

This chappie's up mostly because Kat and Alex are angels and are awesome :)

Oh, and neumegami drew an AWESOME AWESOME inspiration-inducing picture that you guys should TOTALLY check out here (thankies so much for the lovely lovely pic, neumegami-san~~):

i61. photobucket. albums / h44 / neumegami / Crimsonwaves. jpg (just please remove the spaces :))

That said, enjoy~

* * *

**Crimson Waves**

**04**

* * *

The train is fancier than anything there would ever probably be in District Four. Shiba Saori 'tsks' at the decor and tells us they get blander and blander every passing year. She assures us that our rooms, when we finally get to the Capitol, would be so much nicer, because the people who design it have 'exquisite taste.' I wonder why they bother with the niceness. After all, it's not like it will make any difference when we're in the arena and dying.

We'd still be dying. We'd still hate the Capitol.

I hate it so much I take the heavily fluffed pillows that sit neatly on the bed twenty times larger than my own and throw them all around the room until there is nothing more to throw. The down covers my room in white, but there is blood everywhere, because Yumiko dying in front of me, her crimson blood staining the pureness of the room. And when the picture shifts so it is me who is bleeding on the ground, I have to bite my lips hard so I don't scream.

The Games haven't even begun, and I am already losing.

_"You win!"_ Yuuta tells me, with hard, trusting eyes that hurt me every time I remember.

_But I can't win, Yuuta. You know I can't._ I have next to nothing compared to all those other kids from the other districts, and next to One and Two, I am nothing at all. They can kill me so fast I would not even be able to say I am sorry.

I don't know whether it is brave, or cowardly, to think that I do not want to die.

_I do not want to die._

I repeat this over and over in my head until I am not sure where the first sentence ends, and another begins. I sit on the down and think nothing else, because everything else would just kill me. I cannot think of my mother, I cannot think of Yuuta, I cannot think of Yumiko, I cannot think that this time next year, I would no longer be able to see the sea.

Perhaps there are seas in the afterlife. Perhaps there would be one just like what we had at home. Perhaps seas in the afterlife would be green and blue at exactly the same time, too, and perhaps they would still have shiny fishes and magnificently shaped shells. Perhaps I could take them to Yumiko every night, and she would spend her days making the jewelry my mother still furiously makes back home.

The sound of the waves calm me, and I am completely lost in this fantasy that I do not hear the door to the room opening.

I only break out of my fantasy when I feel the familiar, cool gaze of eyes the color of the sunset. I raise my head to meet Tezuka's and when I do, the corners of his lips twitch up in what could be a smile. His eyes are different now, and even though I cannot put my finger on why, I return the smile with a small shaky one of my own.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, and I somehow keep myself from blurting anything embarassing like, 'with my life.' Instead, I slowly nod my head, and try to look as if I am severely contemplating my answer. I am not, but it is not something Tezuka should have to know.

He looks at me for one long moment, before he is nodding back. He moves until I can no longer see him in my line of vision and sits on my bed. I know because down dislodges into my lap when he does. He picks me up from where I am crouched on the floor, and sits me down next to him. I try not to get disturbed at how easily he could carry me, and I am trying to convince myself that it is only natural for him to be able to do that, with him being so strong and manly and all, before I am not thinking at all.

His eyes overwhelm me with their intensity. "Do you trust me?" he asks again, and this time, I say, "With my life."

It is embarrassing, but it is the truth.

"Then," Tezuka says, and he is brushing the down away from my hair. He wipes my eyes, too, until I could no longer feel the coldness of my tears. "I will tell you right now that you will become this year's victor."

And I suddenly know what is different.

Tezuka's eyes are clear.

He is no longer afraid.

That is good. I am happy for him.

At least... That makes one of us.

"Okay." I nod my head, too, in case my voice is too soft, and he lets go of me. I am lying, but I am lying with a feeling of calmness that makes it sound almost convincing. I actually almost believe myself, and I feel accomplished, because I have become such a good liar.

Tezuka says nothing and brushes some of the whiteness away from my bed. He looks like he is thinking very deeply about something, and I want to reach out and take him away from the place that is making him seem older than he really was. I do not understand Tezuka, I realize. I do not understand victors at all. There is something in them that makes me wonder, makes me think that of all the tributes that enter the arena, it's the ones who die who are getting the better deal.

It is a strange thought, so I push it away. The victors are alive. The dead tributes (Yumiko) are not. It is not very hard to determine which is the luckier bunch.

"Shiba wants you for supper," he finally says, but he is still tracing patterns into my bed's sheets. I do not know what to say, so I say nothing at all. Instead, I walk to the bathroom, and spend many minutes standing under a hot shower. We had a shower at home. It is not as fancy, or as elegant, and it did not have so many buttons or heads. Yuuta always uses it before me, so by the time I take a bath, the hot water would have already run out.

I am bathing in hot water right now, and already, I cannot miss Yuuta enough. I hope he is alright. I hope Mother still remembers that he is to eat at seven on the dot so he could keep up with his high-maintenance diet, and I hope I have stocked up on enough seaweed so at least today, he would not have to starve.

I hope he still trusts me.

When I come out, Tezuka leads me towards a train compartment wordlessly. I want to fill the silence, but I am too scared of agitating him, I end up saying nothing at all once again.

The dining car is 'drab and disgusting,' Shiba says, but it is probably the most luxurious dining room I have ever seen. An entire wall is lined with just food. I don't recognize most of them, but they are there, forming mountains of varying degrees of colors, my head starts to ache. Meiko and Ryuzaki-san are already there, and for a moment, I think that she and Tezuka had exchanged glances, but I do not understand victors, so I don't bother to confirm.

I sit next to Tezuka, across from Ryuzaki-san. Whenever I looked at her before, I used to only think that she was Yumiko's mentor, and I would hold her gaze fiercely until she has looked away. Now, I think that a few weeks from this moment, she will be plotting my death, and I can hardly meet her eyes at all. Shiba sits at the head of the table and tells us to 'tuck in' before we start on dinner. I glance surreptitiously at the food wall when we are served the food we have to eat. It is untouched, and I wonder what it is for. 'Drab and disgusting' decoration, maybe? Don't get me wrong, it is not like people from District Four starve. But there are people from other districts who do, and here is a solution to the problem, only nobody in the Capitol cares enough and roll their eyes at it and call it 'drab and disgusting.'

I am so mad, I dig my fingers so tightly in my palms, I am afraid they would start bleeding all over again.

Tezuka meets my gaze halfway into the dinner, though, just when Shiba starts throwing me curious glances and I know exactly what he wants me to do.

Make conversation.

Pretend.

I am surprised that he still knows me so well. Because if there was something Fuji Syusuke could do, it was put up a mask and pretend.

I am pleasant for the rest of the meal. I engage Shiba in a lively conversation that has her bouncing on her seat. Meiko joins in and she is as good a conversationalist as what Careers are trained to be, and between the both of us, we are able to have Shiba grinning so wide, I am afraid her blood lips would tear her face in half. Shiba tells story after story after story, and by the time the meal is finished, I have heard her entire autobiography. I laugh at all the right parts, and sympathize with her when she tells of how she had started out in Twelve, and how it is the most disgusting district of the bunch, and I say yes, we in Four have horror stories about Twelve, but what I really think is, _I hate you I hate you I hate you._

When the others move to separate compartments, Tezuka lags behind with me, and he raises my hands palm up so he could see the bloody half-moon crescents that have formed there. He does not reprimand me for damaging myself because he has to pretend as much as, maybe even more, than I do, and I know he understands what I feel. But his fingers dance over the wounds as he assesses them and I am barely able to hold back shivers.

"These might scar," he says, but I hardly care, I hope they would. Then, I will forever remember the ghost of his touch on my hands, even when I am hollow and alone in a deadly arena. He is so close, so close to me, I can feel the wind shifting through his lashes, and see the fine gold flecks on his otherwise hazel eyes. He is so beautiful, so unbearably handsome, and in a few weeks, I won't be able to see him, not anymore, and this warmth, this feeling I get when we are close is just yet another thing I have to lose.

My heart constricts, and I pull my hand away, hugging it close to my chest.

I turn towards the general direction of my room, crushing my hand in a bruising grip. "I'll..." I clear my throat, trying to steady the sudden squeak in my voice. "I'll wash the... I'll wash it off."

It is a miracle how easily I find my room in the labyrinth. I run directly to the adjoining bathroom, and dump my hand under the stream of water. It is more cold than warm. I am thankful, and I keep my hand under the stream of water until I feel it is numb. I do not want the sparks. I can't lose them. I won't.

They don't belong to me in the first place.

I glance away from my hand, towards the only window in the bathroom. Outside, it was almost dusk. I do not know where we are, only that we are no longer in District Four. The sky is the same orange-red, but there is no water now that would glitter and catch the light, no shimmering orange streaks that was fairytale-like and not at the same time. There was only a mound of earth - a mountain - and it covers the sun as it goes down, very much unlike my ocean, whose waves rise up in warm welcoming arms.

I try to remember what it was like to listen to the waves crash to the shore, and I think I have to blink back frustrated tears when the sound comes out garbled with the noiseless but distinct purr of the train.

"Knock, knock."

I keep my gaze on the steady stream of water. "Meiko," I say.

She is leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, dressed in her fancy Capitol dress. It suits her in the way it doesn't suit Shiba, and the sinking sun lights up her features, her high cheekbones, her long, long lashes. She is beautiful.

In a few weeks, she could be dead.

"Was there anything you needed?" I fake a smile. It does not make anything hurt any less, but it is easier now. With more practice, maybe it would not hurt at all.

Meiko straightens up, brushing her curls back. There is always something motherly about her movements to me, and I keep forgetting she is not my sister.

"Watch the replays of the Reapings with us?" she asks, and I make a sound at the back of my throat and focus on trying to ignore her.

The water from the faucet is now just the right temperature, and near the right color. If I pretend hard enough, this could be water from the sea, and today could be just another day, where I am in my boat, and Meiko would swim right up to me in the docks. She would be naked, and I would throw her a towel so she could get covered up. She'd take the towel but get out of the water naked anyway.

Like Yumiko.

"Calfling," she is whispering, her hands meeting mine under the trickle of numbing water. Her eyes are so green, like my ocean, but I find nothing in them that comfort me one bit. They are every bit as tired as I am. "They're just fish."

I know right away what she means.

All District Four career tributes say it. There are twenty-four tributes flung into the arena every year. Twenty-two are fishes. The two from District Four are the fishers. In an ideal Hunger Games setting, Four dominates the field until only both of them are left. Then, it is the fight of the fishers defending their own catch. One would die, of course, one always had to die. But because that one tribute was from District Four, he is not merely a fish. He is a hero. They are both heroes.

I think that one is dead.

And the other is a murderer.

I was thirteen when Yuuta turned to me for the first time since the Games of that year started and asked me, "Did you know? It's actually pretty easy to kill humans. They're just flesh and bone, after all." And then he turned back around because Four and Two were mutilating a double-crossing tribute from Eleven and the screaming was filling our entire house.

I barely heard his last words, but it was loud enough that it cut through the loud, awful screams. He said, "Exactly like fish," like he was an accomplished fisherman who has just come back with his day's supply of catch.

Later, the screaming followed me into my dreams, and Yuuta was on the boat with me. For the first time since he started training as a Career, he was not dead, dying or bleeding on the ground. Instead, his hands were stained with red, the sea around us was peppered with dead, dead bodies, and all I saw was crimson and scarlet, and scarlet and crimson, and the manic triumphant grin that was unrecognizable in my brother's young face. When I woke up, the first thing I did was try to convince myself that it was just a dream, and dreams never turn into reality.

Yuuta does not even know how to fish.

But of course I am wrong, because in truth, Yuuta does.

In the training center, Yuuta is also being trained to fish. We just have two different sets of catch, because careers are not taught anything as measly as fishing for mundane things like food. No, Yuuta fishes people.

And it hurts so much, because I have promised my Mother and Yuuta, and even Tezuka now, that I would come back alive and the only way to do it almost seems so parallel to what I had loved doing, where I loved being when I was still in my district, and I cannot do it. I wonder how I would live with myself when every time I look at the sea, the faces of the people I have killed to remain alive would be staring back at me. Their blood would be painting the sea a bright crimson, and they would be flopping lifelessly, their mouths half-open, their eyes milky and white.

Exactly like fish.

She gives me another smile. I think it is meant to be encouraging, and I smile back. It is not encouraging, and I think it is insulting to her that I do not respond in kind, but I have nothing else to give, so at least, I have given her something.

"Watch the replays with _me_?" she invites, the change of pronouns conspicuously obvious, but not one she looked like she minded. I look down on our entwined hands, hers over mine over hers, and I keep my eyes level that as I nod.

* * *

Tezuka looks up from a discussion with Ryuzaki-san when we arrive. On the white-washed wall, there is the seal of Panem, and Shiba is bouncing up and down her seat, giddy with expectation. She berates us for being late, and I take a brief moment to wonder since when we had a schedule in the first place. I give Tezuka a fake smile, too, and he looks at me for a very long time, before he looks away, and starts whispering with Ryuzaki-san once again. I hear snippets of their conversation, something about 'Two and Five' and the 'problem with Atobe and Seven.' They had probably already watched the replays before us, but by the way Shiba is grinning, I am guessing she has not.

"Watch carefully," she warns.

In One, a delicate-looking girl is chosen. I remember her though she does not look like strong competition at all, because when her name is called out, a strangled exclamation comes from the group of males, and I have to watch and try not to cry as a broad-shouldered boy wearing a strange hat shouts that he volunteers for her, only to be turned away because he is not a girl. I look at the utter anguish spelled out on his face, and I want to reach out and tell him, I know, because I do know how it feels, and it hurts so very, very much. When the male tribute is chosen, it is so much more chaotic because about four more boys step up and volunteer at exactly the same time. Their escort looks infinitely pleased, and congratulates the district on breeding 'boys with substance and character,' though I have no idea how being ready to kill for glory leads up to 'substance and character.' They finally decide on one that looks just on the brink of eighteen. He has hair as green as seaweed, and a cocky, small grin as if the whole world falls to the ground underneath his feet, but I think he grips the girl's hands extra-tightly when they shake.

And right before they broadcast Two, I see that boy with the strange hat one last time, and there are tears in his eyes, and I so badly want to say _I know, I'm sorry, it hurts me, too_. In the background, I hear Tezuka and Ryuzaki-san talking strategy, murmuring about the strength of this year's Career alliance, and Meiko is pitching in, but all I could manage is my heart throbbing in response to my thoughts, as if saying _here_, it hurts _here_.

In Two, an eager boy volunteers, amongst many others - twelve others (twelve, _twelve!_) - and I think he looks like the devil when he turns his reddened eyes into the camera triumphantly. Two victors stand up in support of his volunteering, even though he is just young and is still fourteen. I remember these two victors very well, because they have played in Games known to be legend. Sanada Genichirou finished off all his competition in three days flat. Yukimura Seiichi, even though he did not have the time element, was even worse. He won by seeming to be sickly and weak at the beginning, only to turn into the fiercest kind of sadistic monster the very second the enemy let his guard down. It is his face I see sometimes, when I have nightmares about the Games. The male devil-tribute with eyes the color of blood had the backing of them both, and my heart falls to the bottom of my stomach in dread.

He says, "I'm going to kill all of you," and the people present in the Reaping respond with, "Always win, District Two!" And while the escort laughs it up, all I am thinking is that he is probably right. I will die, and he might kill me, or he might not, but still I will die.

He'd probably be this year's victor. Some small part of my head reminds me that it was the District Two victor that had killed my sister, too.

I try not to look like I am avoiding the screen when my own Reaping is being broadcast. Shiba squeals so hard, my ears throb and I try to pretend I am being comforting when I pat her on the shoulder because she is crying tears of joy. She says we both look so perfect, but we are not perfect at all. Meiko looks resigned, and I look every bit as terrified as I felt. Yumiko did not look like that when she volunteered for the Games. Yumiko did not look scared. Yumiko did not give half-assed acting or half-assed smiles. Yumiko had been perfect.

Yumiko had been perfect, but she had died. So the following logic is simple enough, even the stupidest people would understand.

(Yumiko had been perfect.) I'm not perfect.

(She had died.) I'll die for sure.

At least, I'm smart enough to realize that.

And then, there is the disaster of Seven. It is not a disaster to anyone else, but it is a disaster to me. They have reaped a child. He is fourteen, but he looks so very much like a kid, my hearts drops even further downwards. He seemed to be asleep when his name was called out, and it took great effort, and a great deal of embarrassment to the district escort just so he could be woken up. I remember this Reaping not because of that, but because, for a moment, when the boy bounces into the stage, rubbing his eyes like (_Yuuta_) a little kid, there is a shot of the victor sitting behind him. I remember this victor, too, because he is the worst kind of arrogant any victor could be. But when I see his face at that moment, I recognize the naked fear, the painful anguish that had warred in my own eyes when Yuuta announced he will become this year's sacrifice.

_He looks just like me. _

I cannot do it. I cannot kill anyone. Not the girl from One, or my district partner who reminds me of my dead sister, and especially not the boy from Seven.

They have people who want them back home, too. They have lives, they have people who love them. I think of the stricken look in the boy from District One's face ("I volunteer! I _volunteer_! _Don't take Stephanie away!_"), and the arrogance draining out of Atobe Keigo's when he is faced with the exact same anguish everyone has to face every year.

I cannot just take them away from the people that they loved.

Meiko's hand drops into my own, but I do not recognize it, because it is not the hand I wanted. I know it makes me a bad person. But I only think that perhaps I should start learning how to be heartless. That way, lifting a sword and cutting off heads would not hurt so much. That way, I would not have to think of Atobe Keigo, or that boy from One, or anyone else, when I raise my hand to end someone's life.

That way, I could be a killer that would make my younger brother proud.

"They're just fish," she murmurs soothingly throughout the entire replay, but she is wrong, they are more than just fish, and I cannot find the strength to kill a single one. I do not want to.

...I'm going to die. I'm going to die and it's going to be all my fault.

By the time they announce the last tribute, I am sick to my stomach, and gripping Meiko's hand so tight I know I have cut off the circulation. She does not complain, because she is gripping my hand just as tightly and cutting off my circulation, too.

* * *

That night, I toss and turn in my bed until I give up, and just look at the ceiling. It is a strange kind of brown, so light that it looks yellow, but too dark to be. This is the first time I see it. I think maybe it will not be long until I see skin as strange as that. Perhaps the people from the Capitol don't just stop at their skin. Perhaps, their blood is of a different color as well. Perhaps, they have changed themselves so much they are not even people anymore. What other reason could there be for their blatant enjoyment of the deaths of children from their own species?

I turn to my side at the same time the door to my room slides open with a soft hiss.

There is Tezuka, bringing along something I could not recognize in the dark. He says nothing as he settles down beside me, but the smell of fresh fish fills the room, and I do not know whether I am once again wishing I am home, or whether I want to run into the bathroom to throw up.

"Would you eat?" he asks me. The small light on my bed blinks to brightness at his words, and I am staring that depthless hazel once again. Their calm spreads to me like a soothing balm, and all the tense muscles in my body loosen so I feel more at ease than I have ever been since the Reaping. I try to remind myself that Tezuka is asking me a question, but there were many things more important in the world than answering it. I do not want to stop staring at Tezuka's eyes.

But there is a question, and it has to be answered. My head drops down to the tray he has brought, and I am wary, because I am afraid of what I would see. For the first time in my life, I do not want to see the fish.

And I do not.

Instead, it is rice wrapped in seaweed. I hardly recognize the fish, and but I know it is there, because the smell of home fills my room and permeates my senses. It is topped with something green that I do not recognize. It is Capitol-green, I suppose, a little more earthy than the sea green that is common to our district. And even though it is from the Capitol, I like it. I smile up to Tezuka for his efforts, and take one of the rolls laid out on the tray.

I cannot describe the taste even if I try. My tongue tingles at the spice, it is hot and fiery but I don't mind at all, because it is so delicious, and so unbelievably tasty, I suddenly want to cry all over again.

Back at home, we ate bland food.

"Wasabi," Tezuka tells me, pointing to the earthy green paste topping one roll. "I thought..." He looks down on the plate and contemplates on a roll. "It seemed like the sort of thing you would like."

If only for that reason, it would become my most favorite food in the entire world. It is a sad thought, because this is probably the only time I would be able to taste it. There would be none of it in the arena, I am sure. And after the Games, there would be no me to taste it, no matter how plentiful it is. But at least, maybe, Tezuka will always remember this night. And then he will think that Fuji liked wasabi on his fish-rice-seaweed rolls, and I would forever be remembered.

I like thinking about it, even though pretty soon, I would not be around to think it at all.

"It's not bland," I reply, turning another roll in my hands before I bring it to my mouth. "I like it very much."

I say this and try not to think about Yuuta and his bland, healthy diet, but it is useless, because the next moment, Tezuka is saying, "Your brother..." and the grief hits me back full force once again.

I have never been Yuuta's brother. In name, perhaps, but that is all, because I was never good enough.

I still am not.

I will never have the chance to be.

"Tezuka," I say, keeping my eyes carefully on the wasabi on the roll. "The Capitol supposedly has a bunch of advanced, powerful technology, right?" I handle only a second's pause, before I continue. I cannot wait for the reply. I might lose what courage I have gathered. "So, if I try to reach Yuuta, and... and my Mom, can I?"

I meet his eyes then, but they are the same unreadable victor eyes he had always worn ever since he moved to the Village. I feel so helpless, because now, I am losing Tezuka all over again. "Why?"

"I don't..." _I don't want them to watch me die._ But, of course, I cannot say it. It lodges into the back of my throat and stays there, until it blocks my air passages, and makes it hard for me to breathe. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"Fuji." He clutches my chin and lifts my face up until it is only his eyes that I see. "You don't know..." Perhaps it is his hand that is trembling, or perhaps it is my own. Perhaps we are both trembling, but I cannot pull my eyes away from his to see. "You don't know how strong you are."

Oh, but I do. I do, Tezuka, but that is insignificant because I am not very strong at all. It is just something everyone has to accept. I cannot win. No matter how many promises I make otherwise, I cannot win. Not even you, Tezuka, could help me. There is nothing you can do to turn this... _me_... into the last survivor.

Have you seen what I do when I am thrown into crimson water?

I drown.

"I'll see you win, Fuji," Tezuka promises, and I want to tell him to stop. I am so tired of people lying to themselves. I am so tired of believing it may come true. "I'll make sure you come out of your arena alive, if it's the last thing I do."

I don't know what to say so I settle for nothing. Tezuka tries to make me eat some more, but I have lost any appetite I may have had. At this rate, I'll starve myself to death before the Games even come, but at least, that death is a death of my choosing.

It is all I have left right now. And of course, the Capitol could not leave even that well enough alone.

Pretty soon, it'll be their entertainment that'll decide my death.

When Tezuka leaves, he takes the warmth away with him. He pauses by the door, and I look up in anticipation. He does not say anything for a long time and I think maybe he will not say anything after all.

Finally, there is a very soft, barely audible, "I'm sorry."

The door closes, and I am left looking at an empty slate, because Tezuka has disappeared just as easily as he had done three years ago. Just that easily? I want to ask. Have I always been nothing to you?

I turn my head away, and watch the flutter of the curtains when I force out, "Me, too."

* * *

I have just fallen asleep when Shiba Saori sails through my door and jumps on me on the bed. The breath is knocked out of my lungs and my first coherent thought is that she is forty times heavier than she looks. Are all people from the Capitol like this? Stick-thin, but heavier than a full net of fishes?

"We're almost there!" she trills into my ear. Her voice is grating, and it almost makes me wince before I remember that I am mandated to be nice to her. So I tease her for a bit before I run her out of my room so I could afford myself a few minutes of privacy. I dress quietly, unhurriedly, because I am not overtly-eager to prance the way Shiba wants me to. I have slept very little, but it does not show on my face, and I am torn between being relieved or being annoyed.

I eat minimal breakfast, and so does Meiko. Shiba does not notice, because she is too busy blubbering about how much we'll love the Capitol, we might even forget about our own home. I think that is impossible, nothing would ever match District Four and my own humble house with its wooden beds, nets and tridents. But I smile, and tease her once again, and Meiko teases us both and she giggles like there is no tomorrow.

Tezuka and Ryuzaki-san are conspicuously absent throughout the whole ordeal.

And the breakfast is over and Shiba shoves our faces into the window of the train, and tells us to take it all in, don't be shy. There is nothing to see, because we are passing through a tunnel, but I obediently try to look pleased about gray walls that look the same every time I look at them.

Tezuka startles me when he comes up behind me, almost in the exact same time Ryuzaki-san does. They do not say anything when the tunnel gives way to light, and Meiko and I see our first glimpse of the beginning of our funeral march. Shiba is screaming. It is so beautiful, she says, go ahead, take it all in.

It is painful to look at. Everything is so fake, everything is so forced. Is there anything in this city that is real? I see the first clumps of people, with their pink and yellow and purple skin, and I think, no, no, no. It is all so wrong, and wasabi could have never come from this fake city. Tezuka would not give me anything from this. I don't want to believe he would ever give me anything that was created here.

I am cut off my thoughts when the windows open, and cool, unnatural air blasts into our faces.

"Wave," Tezuka says. I could feel his breath ghosting at the back of my ear, and I try not to feel as if fire has not entered my veins. "Smile."

Meiko is already throwing kisses to the wild crowd when I join her. I school my face into my most pleasant smile, and start to waggle the fingers in my hand. I know exactly how I look. Delicate, gentle, feminine. I have learned, in my very brief acquaintance with Shiba, that Capitol citizens are crazy about looks like these. I am proven right, when the shrieks that have greeted Meiko triple in magnitude. All the people in the streets look up at us now, and I smirk some just to get them going. They are throwing kisses in my direction and I caress the air as if I am trying to feel them as I pass. They are screaming and shouting, and the more they do, the more I waggle, and wink and catch their kisses back.

My heart is shrivelling in disgust, but my smile is so wide, I might as well be the happiest person on earth.

I have just been in the Capitol for a few minutes, and already I am more fake than I will ever be.

Meiko finds my hand and grips it, beneath the ledge so no one would see, but I cling to it again, because it is the only way I could have survived this ordeal. Her hands are filled with callouses, but so is mine, and the thought that no one else in this wretched city did had me clinging on to her hand tighter.

When we roll into the station, away from the eyes of the crowd, I am exhausted. Tezuka pulls me away from the window, and from Meiko, and I think that it may be a growl that underlines his, "That is enough," which leaves me confused, because was he not the one who told me to smile and wave in the first place?

So why is he angry?

I do not ask, and he does not tell me. I suppose I will never know.

Unlike the city, the station is deserted. I wonder why. Aren't there supposed to be people waiting to film us and show us off so we could entertain the people of the Capitol more? I turn to Shiba for confirmation of my thought, but she does not look displeased at all. On the contrary, she looks beside with herself in excitement. I look around the empty station once again, just to make sure. There is nothing around that will induce excitement.

Tezuka frowns, too, but it is only when we have stepped off of the train that he stiffens, and something suspiciously like alarm fills up his once clear, fearless eyes. His hand flies to my wrist and it stays there, in a tight, uncomfortable lock. I do not try to pry it off, because I am just as unsure with the setting as he is.

I take a deep breath and almost choke. It is not a smell that is familiar in a district like ours, but when Yumiko had died, we had gotten package after package of this every day, so it is a smell that I know.

I understand next to nothing about trains because there is little use for them back home, but even I know that the station does not smell like what it should be smelling like at all.

Instead, it smells of roses and blood, and the awful fragrance permeates the air, so sickly sweet, and so cloying, so deceptively innocent, I feel as if I want to throw up. And it is only when the shadows on the other end of the station shift that I realize that the smell is coming from a person.

And my hearts flies to my throat and drops down to my stomach at exactly the same time, because when he smiles, I see the smile of a killer.

* * *

Preview Wave 05:

_"Why do you think his name came out of that bowl this year?"_

_"No matter what, I am friends with you... No one else."_

_"Sponsors aren't everything. Your sister proved that well enough."_

"_Either way, I die." _

"_See that you control your tributes, Yukimura."_

"_Syusuke, they Reaped you because-"_

* * *

Clary: Okay. We know there is no excuse. You guys can yell at us, if you want. We decided we'd make longer chapters so we can get to the Games quicker, so that sorta means there'll be scene cuts, boo.

Oh, but you guys got a sneak preview of some of the tributes, ne~~~ Districts One, Two and Seven, right? ;) Actually, we still have holes in our Tribute lineup –sob- so if you guys wanna suggest some characters you might want to see in Fuji's Games, do tell! :))) Anything, except for the characters we are contemplating for the Seventy-Fourth Games, is fair game :DDD We like to know what you guys think :)

So please do stop by and drop a review~~ :)

PS: PROMISE, after this is the chappie for MoTH, though it might take longer because my writing skills are dying –IS SAD- :(


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